


Talons

by aliasofwestgate



Series: Bird of Prey [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Shapeshifting, canon AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:06:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliasofwestgate/pseuds/aliasofwestgate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>About 6 weeks after the events of Tiercel, Arthur is doing something he shouldn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talons

 

Arthur carefully watched Merlin’s movements on the practice field. The lanky young man’s motions were quick and agile compared to his own and those of his knights. But they were not the same type of fighter as the manservant he thought, reviewing the quick, hard to catch maneuvers that had been the previous day’s lesson.

````````````````

“Look out!!” Merlin shouted, as they walked through the city, pushing Arthur out of the way of a deadly and tiny dirk, a few weeks back. Tackling the ragged fool without heed to his own safety, leaving Arthur stunned on the ground, as he watched him pummel the almost assassin unconscious with little to no finesse at all. 

 “Merlin!” Arthur’s voice clipped, with the edge of command on it. His friend, yes he could admit that now, his friend’s back straightened, and his hands stopped. Arthur got to his feet, walking over and offering Merlin a hand up. Pulling the slim bodied man up, Arthur noted the ease of movement that he had when he wasn’t weighted down with any heavy weaponry. They both watched the guards, who had been fetched by a shopkeeper, drag away the unconscious man; the flash of anger still in Merlin’s dark blue eyes and the set of his jaw, the tension still in his shoulders.  The prince noted it all, and beckoned Merlin to return to the castle with him. He was thinking, quietly, the entire time. Merlin’s silence had been just as telling.  Once again, Arthur made a decision that would go against most of his father’s principles. 

`````````````````````````````````````````

Which lead, in turn, to Arthur taking a few hours every day, after he finished drill with his detachment of the Knights, to tutor Merlin in the more silent arts of defending oneself. Arthur already knew dirty fighting at its finest, the least he could do was to teach it to a friend. 

Arthur moved back onto the field, with Merlin in the small circle they’d scratched in the dirt.  Merlin grinned back at him, crouched low at a guard position. The easy tension finally growing familiar to him, Arthur noted with a critical eye. Good. Time to change things up.

Arthur charged him for a moment, and then lashed out with a foot, following it up with a fist towards Merlin’s gut. The manservant managed to dodge the foot, and started to jump back away from the fist on its way to his stomach, but not far enough. Merlin landed in the dirt with a disgusted glare on his face. Arthur could do nothing but laugh at the look he got, reminded once again of the tiny, slate blue winged falcon that his friend was named after. 

“Are you trying to kill me, Arthur, or torture me for some odd reason I can’t fathom?’ Merlin said, pouting from his spot in the dirt. “What did I do this time?”

“Nothing, Nothing!” Arthur barked out, still laughing. His smile bright and genuine, but shifting to something a little more serious for a moment. “Remember that moron you pummeled in the markets, Merlin?”

“Yes…” The voice for once hesitant, but still immediate from the other man. 

“If you’re going to risk your life for me like this, the least I can do is teach you how to stay alive, idiot.” Arthur’s voice ending on a fond note, and a smile once more.

“I’m not a knight, Arthur. I don’t want to be one.” 

“I know, Merlin I know. That is why we’re fighting this way. I’d have my Master of Arms teach you, but he’d tell Father, and that would end this entire thing.  I’m more inclined to keep you, and the best way for you to do what you seem so enthusiastic to do for me. I can teach you how to do better. There’s more than one way to fight, and I know you know that!”

“You don’t have to be such a git about it!” Merlin protests, rubbing his side for a moment as he stands up from the ground again.

“It’s the only way to make you learn it and remember it, Merlin. The body remembers the pain, and moves the correct way. You’re learning it much later than I did as well, so the learning comes harder. But you’re learning it. Now back to the starting position.” 

He ran Merlin through several moves, even teaching him the maneuver he had just used, and including several more before Arthur finally ended their practice bouts. Merlin still ended up on the ground more often than not, but he was also staying upright much longer than in the previous sessions.

“I’ve one more task to finish yet, Merlin. Ready my bath, and go to your own.  We’ll meet again for the evening meal.”  Merlin nods and walks off, for once too tired to argue with him.

Arthur makes his way towards the markets once more, his own rondel at his side, as well as his dressing sword back in place.  Taking in the sights and sounds of his city, he makes his way to the smithy. 

He is greeted at the door with a nod from Gwen’s Father, watching closely as he finishes smoothing out the blade of a claymore. The prince lets his eyes rove over the intensely hot metal, always amazed at the process that is magic in itself.

“Have you finished them yet?” His voice eager, as the large blacksmith plunges the unfinished blade back into the fires and leaves it there.

“Yes, Your Majesty.  I finished them only a day ago. Are you sure you want no engravings on these?” The metal smith asked, having a bit of an idea of who they are for.

The blacksmith went back towards where his blades were shown for sale, and went to a corner which held his private commissions. He pulled out a box, roughly two feet in length, and returned to open it before Arthur.

The prince’s gaze fell onto a rondel dagger much like his own, and two slim and deadly stilettos. The rondel’s circular grip was slate blue, the hilt and pommel a practical brown. The stilettos were black, as he’d deemed fit, left unmarked and as they were. The weapons were best left without any identifying markings of the kingdom because of their nefarious use, on the battle field and off it.  Arthur remembered the loss of many of his Father’s older knights to the tiny blade.  The stiletto’s purpose was to find the smallest chink in mail or plate armor alike, and exploit it. Most times fatally.

“They are perfect! Leave them as they are, Goodman Smith. I will send someone along with your payment before sundown.” Arthur’s eyes lighting up at the exquisite craftsmanship of the blades. Utilitarian, but would serve Merlin well in the future. Smiling at the perfection of the blue along the rondel, he closes the box and takes it in his hands.

He returns to his rooms, locking away the prize in his cupboard. Leaving the talons of his little bird of prey for the day when he’d be ready for them, he headed for his bath. At the rate Merlin was learning, it would be less than a week before he was ready for real dagger work. The wooden blades would be started tomorrow. For an idiot, his friend was a genius at close combat.

Stripping down to his undergarments, Arthur settled into his bath and let his fatigued muscles unknot in the still warm water.  Barring any unforeseen disasters, Merlin would be ready soon, and Arthur intended to present the daggers personally. For better or for worse, arming his falcon. Because he could do no less.  As a prince and most especially as a friend.

 


End file.
